They involuntarily ran over his stomachand his waist. The contact of his now-smaller hands with the smoothness ofthe blouse and bodysuit sent an intense pleasure wave that would havesurely knocked him over had he not been immobile.He blinked his eyes and his lids felt heavier that he was used to. Hishead felt heavier, but he really couldn't place it. He can't look awayfrom the mirror, even thought the mirror is still not clear. He can makeout the shape his body, but no details.Still enjoying the forced pleasure, Nate's hands ran down over his nylon-clad legs and up under his skirt. The feel of his hands on the nylon wasamazing until he felt them go over his crotch. His flat crotch. He felt asensitive indentation of extreme heat and moisture. Nate's eyes widenedagain, but he still couldn't control any movement. The warmth on his chestdramatically increased along with his breathing as his hands began to rubsomething very, very good. A pressure started to build and Nate began toshake.. In the centre an old bailer, rusting quietly away a wall of hay at the far end, a glorious smell of summer s gone, memories of his youth and his aunts farm instantly back. Laughing from the short hand in hand unaccustomed run, they retook their breath, she then saying that “this barn was the one that Mark had photographed on his walk in the snow, the one you painted from the picture Eddy!” He, laughing that “It must be fate,” swung her to face him closer, then he took her in his arms and kissed her, not as a friend, or acquaintance, but as the only woman left in the world. He led her to the hay, soft sweet-smelling hay that had dried here for almost all of that year, they fell on the soft bailed mattress, arms entwined, lips welded to each other as if the world depended on their communicating this way. There was no wife, no son, no sister no daughter in law and nothing outside that mattered at that moment the barn became their bedroom, there stage, their bubble. Hands tore at.
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